


The Death of Anne of Austria

by Titlark



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-15 02:00:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8037787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Titlark/pseuds/Titlark
Summary: It´s January 1666. Philippe d´Orleans just arrived to Paris as he learned from his brother´s letter that mother is gravely ill. This will be a testing time for him as well as for Louis. The question is - will it make them closer or just the opposite?





	The Death of Anne of Austria

“I´m sorry for yesterday, Louise,“ said the King, “I was unkind.”  
“That´s alright, Your Majesty, I completely understand,” nodded Louise de La Valliere.  
They were lying in her bed and watching the morning sun glimmer on the little icicles hanging from the window and on the thin carpet of wet snow which covered all the outside world.  
There was a great deal of beauty in this view, but the king´s mood was far from admiring the wonders of nature. His mother, Anne of Austria, was dying...  
“In the evening they told me she was better,” said Louis and his distant stare was cold. He got used to talking with Louise like she wasn´t even there, because she rarely said anything worth considering anyway – a couple of trite kind phrases sufficed most of the time.  
“I´m pleased to hear it, my king.”  
“And I would be pleased to hear the truth,” grumbled Louis, who then got up and started pacing across the room. Louise watched him from the bed. “They are telling me – all of them – exactly what I want to hear,” continued irritated Louis, “I want my mother to be better – so they tell me she´s better. Honestly, if I wanted her dead they´d probably choke her with her own pillow.”  
“Sire!” shrieked out Louise. “You can´t speak like that!”  
Louis´ cold stare impaled her. “Can´t I?”  
She gasped. “I mean, Your Majesty...”  
King waved his hand. “Can´t I?” he repeated absently. “One would say I can do anything. I´m the king, chosen by God to have power over thousands – and yet my mother is dying for months and I can do nothing.”  
“God will call us all, when our time comes.”  
“It seems to be so,” muttered Louis. In occasions like this one Louise really drove him mad.  
“I think it´s shameful you can´t see her,” frowned Louise, “really shameful, my king.”  
Louis just nodded.  
“My prayers are with Her Majesty,” added Louise, confused by his silence, “day and night.”  
“Are they?”  
Suddenly the door opened and Bontemps entered.  
“Sire, I´m sorry to disturb you-”  
“That´s quite alright, Bontemps, what is it? Mother?”  
“No change, sire, but the Duke of Orleans just arrived.”  
Louis breathed out, relieved. “Thank God.”  
And left Louise´s room immediately. 

Louis came quickly into his chambers, got dressed and soon the brothers bumped into each other in the entrance hall. Philippe was dressed in a long warm riding coat, currently wet from the melted snow. The frost outside colored Philippe´s nose, cheeks and ears shining red.  
He ran the last few steps and caught Louis´ hands.  
“Brother, how is she?” Philippe asked full of anxiety.  
“Come,” Louis nodded and pressed his brother´s hands before releasing them.  
Philippe threw his coat to the servant and followed Louis upstairs.  
It was some time ago that the brothers last saw one another. Anne´s long lasting illness confided Louis to Paris while Philippe was spending long months in Saint-Cloud or even further and insisted his wife accompany him everywhere.  
This little malicious joy was just a plaster on the fact that the Duchess of Orleans invited the King to her bed more than her husband. This caused an estrangement and tension between brothers, who saw each other at best six times for the last two years.  
“How was Montpellier?” asked Louis.  
“Like your wife´s chambers,” said Philippe, “gloomy and full of Spaniards.”  
“You were riding all your way here?”  
“Just from Fontainebleau,” Philippe added: “Our carriage got stuck and broke a wheel, so we got there and then I took a horse to make it here before-“ He stopped there and Louis didn´t finish the sentence for him.  
“- to make it here on time,” finally said Philippe tentatively.  
Louis nodded. “Yes, I believe you did. At least she finally sent away that butcher Alliot. I always thought he could be more an executioner to her than a physician.”  
“What did he do?”  
“As I´ve heard, he used an arsenic paste to mortify the diseased tissue and then cut it off with razor,” answered Louis bleakly.  
Philippe shuddered as he imagined that. “How could you allow him?”  
“He still seemed more sensible than those before him. Bleeding, purgation, diets, hemlock ointment, belladonna and burnt lime, seriously...”  
They continued in silence into Anne´s anteroom, where Philippe noticed Louis´ was no longer by his side. He turned around and saw the king standing a few steps behind him.  
“Brother? What´s going on?”  
“I can´t go further,” explained Louis and had a side look on all the guards, Bontemps, Fabien Marchal and two of Anne´s ladies, “protocol.”  
“I see.”  
Philippe shook his head and entered Anne´s bedchamber alone.  
People who have ever seen current Duke of Orleans, possibly couldn´t overlook his delicate physique, tender face or effeminate mannerisms, but they were far from truth by expecting him to be weak entirely. When he saw his mother, lying in the bed – exhausted, swollen, transformed by her disease, he only swallowed although his hands were shaking. The decaying flesh of his mother´s breast stank so badly that not even at least ten burning incense sticks couldn´t suppress the impression someone was rotting alive here. Philippe pressed a perfumed handkerchief on his nose, but then he started to breathe by mouth and put that little piece of silk away.  
His face even managed a little smile when he approached Anne and kissed her cheek like nothing was wrong.  
“Good to see you, mother,” he whispered and sat on her bed.  
“My little princess,” smiled Anne, “I look really poorly, don´t I?”  
“No!” said Philippe quickly. “No, not at all!”  
“But I do. I would know even if I didn´t see it in your eyes. Diseases are humiliating conditions, my dear, always make one dirty and worthless.”  
“Do not say such things,” admonished her Philippe quietly and his voice broke, “you will recover, soon you´ll be better, you´ll see!”  
Anne turned her eyes from her son on the ceiling and muttered: “I was too proud, now I know it. I always saw myself to be different from every other human being – and indeed I am. Usually no one rotted till after death, but as for me, God had condemned me to rot in life.”  
“And anything else? No one else has ever been or will be a mother to me! And to my brother! His thoughts are only with you, I know that.” Philippe shortly hesitated and added: “He can´t be here for the protocol, but I´m sure if you would wish to see him...”  
“He is a good boy, you both are,” said Anne, “but as a king he has to obey rules kings have to obey. I gave command not to allow him closer. My dear, you will never feel the burden of his crown, but you must understand what he already knows – he mustn’t let anyone lead him astray. Not me and not you.” She saw the devastated face of her son and smiled a little. “Besides,” she added, “which woman with a little self-esteem would want to appear like this in front of the king?”  
Philippe chuckled but this little wave of emotions invaded his self-control and he gave a sob. He took out his handkerchief again, but instead of using it he handed it to Anne, so she could smell jasmine and musk instead of her rotting flesh for a moment.  
“I used to be a beautiful woman, wasn´t I?” whispered Anne after some time of silence.  
Philippe nodded helplessly. “Of course! Everyone knows it.”  
“God wills to punish me in this way,” she continued, “for having had too much vanity and for loving the beauty of my body too well. Soon I will abandone it to His justice, men may do what they like with it.”

While Philippe was talking to mother, Louis stayed in anteroom. Bontemps was there and also middle-aged dark-haired woman, Madame de Motteville, Anne´s loyal lady. Louis was talking with her.  
“I hope my brother´s arrival will lift her spirit,” said King and Madame de Motteville concurred with him.  
“Her Majesty was expecting him quite impatiently. In bad times there is nothing better than having one´s family around.”  
“Indeed,” Louis nodded.  
“I remember those poor souls in the infirmary of the convent in Val-de-Grâce,” continued Motteville, “Her Majesty and I, we were often visiting it to find peace, she is very fond of the place.”  
“Yes, I know.”  
“Some of those poor nuns were suffering the same condition as Her Majesty now. This cancer is such a terrible disease, I remember the first time I saw it there. It was so gruesome, dreadful! The poor woman with the rotting skin and the tumor which destroyed nearly half of her ribcage... it nearly opened her body to view! I never forget this, sire, even if I lived-”  
“Madame,” Louis interrupted her, “could you have a look if my mother doesn´t need anything?”  
“Of course, Your Majesty.”  
When Madame de Motteville entered the bedroom she went past Philippe who just came out.  
Louis noticed brother´s greenish face and also a smell which soaked his clothes.  
“How is she?” he asked.  
Philippe did not respond immediately, but Louis didn´t pressure him.  
“Not... not good,” answered Philippe after a while and his voice was choked, “not good, actually...” he took a side look at Louis, “why didn´t you write me earlier, you should´ve let me know!”  
“Earlier?” Louis frowned. “When earlier exactly? I wrote you a month ago she was getting worse!”  
“Yes, and I arrived as soon as I could, do you realize how long is the journey from Montpellier in this weather?”  
“So the weather is my fault now?” retorted Louis.  
“You should have told me earlier!” Philippe also became agitated.  
“I wrote in June! Was that soon enough! I wrote you she was sick!”  
“Sick! Yes, she´s sick last two years!”  
“Maybe if you didn´t spend those two years by wandering around whole France, you might have some idea what´s going on here! Do you think this has been somehow easy for me? I give you an answer, IT WAS NOT, my ministers are ignoring me, my country is revolting, members of all the nations are trying to kill me, my mother is dying and I tell you, you´re not very helpful either!”  
“And whose fault is that I wasn´t here!”  
“Only yours!”  
“Mine?”  
“Yours! You left of your own accord, nobody-”  
“Just don´t tell me you have no idea why I left! Do you think I would stay here just for a second watching you and-”  
“ENOUGH!” stormed Louis. “This is not about me now, not about you either, it´s about her! The only thing I´m asking you is to shut up and somehow endure your visit here, however brief it may be!”  
Philippe stood still, his eyes widened, while Louis was slowly calming down his heavy breath.  
“Mother wouldn´t want us to argue,” said Louis quietly after a while.  
Philippe smiled a little. “Well, she wouldn´t exactly be shocked.”  
They both looked at each other, it seemed they were little embarrassed for their performance.  
“I´m sorry,” said Philippe apologetically, “I´ve just... lost my composure.”  
The King also smiled and tapped his brother´s shoulder. “I don´t blame you and I´m glad you´re here. I needed you.”  
Philippe nodded. “And...,” he said after a while, “what now?”  
“Now I´ve my duties,” said Louis, “and you could change from your riding clothes, you´re still wet from snow.”

It was night and in the anteroom of Queen Mother´s chambers the two brothers once again present.  
They were sitting by the table lit by the candelabra. The air was filled by suspense and anxiety which they felt like a string around their necks, slowly tightening and choking them.  
But their faces were calm, maybe little pale, but it wasn´t so visible in the candlelight.  
They held cards in their hands and played Royal Game of War.  
Bontemps was also in the room, quietly watching the taut expressions of both brothers.  
“Brother,” said Philippe and roused Louis from his contemplation, “you take the card.”  
“Oh, yes,” Louis nodded, “yes, thank you.”  
He filled his hand from the package.  
Philippe´s turn.  
“Following. Jack of Diamonds.”  
What are we doing here, thought Philippe, nothing, but none of us would sleep anyway. We sit and wait here for no purpose, which is bad, or it does have a purpose, which is... unthinkable.  
“Brother,” made Louis himself heard, “put the card down.”  
“Yes, sorry.”  
Philippe quickly placed the card on the table to follow the trick and took another from package.  
Louis looked into his cards and on the table. “You win the trick.”  
Philippe took the cards from the table and put them on the bottom of package.  
What is she doing there, crossed Louis´ mind, just lying there? What is she thinking about? What does one think about when dying? About life? About death? Who can say?  
“Brother,” said Philippe, “elder hand. You start a trick.”  
“Yes, I know, I was... thinking.”  
“I know.”  
The brothers were staring at each other for a while, trying to guess what the other one thinks. None of them succeeded.  
“Louis?” asked Philippe quietly. He very rarely called his brother by name.  
“Yes?”  
“Do you... do you remember when our father died? I never asked.”  
“Just a little,” said Louis pensively, “I remember sitting on mother´s lap next to his bed. Just a blink, really. I was confused I remember,” Louis smiled weakly, “I remember I thought it was a bogeyman who tricked our mother to think he´s father.”  
Philippe chuckled.  
“But then,” Louis continued, “I remember he spoke. He looked at me and said: Who´s that? and mother replied: Your son, sire. Louis XIV. and he said: Not yet. That´s all I remember, but they told me he died shortly afterwards. Then I recall the funeral, mostly the black horses. And you started screaming when cannons fired and your governess had to take you away. You don´t remember father at all, do you?”  
“How can I? There was always just mother for me,” replied Philippe, “and Mazarin, of course.”  
Both brothers shortly thought of Cardinal, the closest man to father they had. The man they buried four years ago.  
“We should continue the game,” said Philippe, “what do you think?”  
“Yes,” Louis nodded, “we should.”  
There was a silence for a while.  
“The cards,” reminded Philippe, “start a trick.”  
“Oh, yes, yes, sorry,” Louis put a card on the table. “There. The council wants me to choose a new first minister. Mother held the position since Cardinal´s death, but...”  
His brother´s stare impaled him. “Do you have someone in mind for the position?” asked Philippe.  
“Not yet. Maybe no one.”  
“No one?”  
“For what is the king if someone rules for him, after all?” said Louis.  
Philippe sighed, got rid of one of his cards and took another from the package.  
“You win, brother,” he said suddenly, “congratulation.”  
Louis raised an eyebrow. “I win? How?”  
“Losing card,” explained Philippe and placed it in the middle of the table, “the Death.”  
The bedroom door suddenly opened and Madame de Motteville ran into the anteroom, quickly curtseyed to Louis and turned to Philippe.  
“Your Royal Highness, please, you must go there, at once!”  
Philippe stood up. “Is she worse?”  
“I think she is... she is... I have to run for the doctor.”  
She didn´t explain any further but it wasn´t necessary. She was gone in a moment, Philippe gave Louis one pale look and then disappeared in the bedroom door.  
Now there was just Louis, Bontemps and three guards in the room. Louis jumped up on his feet and started pacing, just for a moment, then he leaned against the wall.  
He stood there like a statue for more than ten minutes of complete silence. Behind the door to the corridor there were head voices of people, who started to assemble in expectation of Queen Mother´s passing.  
Then Bontemps approached his king.  
“Sire? Are you alright?”  
“What will I do, Bontemps?” Louis muttered under his breath, only the valet could hear him.  
“You already know the answer, sire,” Bontemps answered, “and you´re doing well.”  
“But you don´t know,” sighed Louis inaudibly, “you don´t know!”  
The Valet pressed his lips together, but suddenly Louis said: “Could you bring me my pocket watch? I left it in my chamber.”  
“A pocket watch?” repeated Bontemps surprised.  
“Yes, man, my pocket watch. Now.”  
“As you wish, sire,” Bontemps bowed and left.  
When he was gone, Louis immediately turned to his mother´s chamber. He had to talk to her, once again, once more, he has to tell her everything he never found courage to tell...  
He opened the door and entered.  
All the hairs on his body stood on end.  
The chamber was dark and gloomy. Philippe was there, kneeling next to mother´s bed, desperately clutching her hand and weeping without tears, for all of them he already shed. But it wasn´t his brother, nor even his mother in the bed what scared him so, it was the smell, the scent of death everywhere around. It was like the Grim Reaper himself reached for Louis´ heart and pressed it.  
She´s going away, he realized clearly and the realization ran through him like a sharp knife through butter, she´s going away and she´ll never come back. Nobody comes back. No one will ever come...  
Anne suddenly spoke to him, he didn´t even realize she noticed his presence.  
“Are you scared?” she whispered like she knew. “Of course you are. Your mother is dying and the world is on fire. If history teaches us one thing, it is this: Terrible things happen to kings...”  
Several hands caught Louis by the coat and dragged him back – he was so froze he didn´t put up any resistance. But back in the anteroom he realized, she kept talking – and he didn´t hear.  
Everything around him was like a dream, Louis didn´t even care who´s there and who isn´t, who holds him or if anyone at all.  
Doctor Alliot ran inside the bedchamber and suddenly Bontemps put his hand on king´s shoulder.  
“Your pocket watch, sire.”  
“Keep it,” said Louis.  
“But sire-”  
“I said keep it, Bontemps, don´t let me repeat it again.”  
And in the endless and at the same time absurdly short moment Louis knew what just happened and turned around to see Philippe leaving the bedchamber.  
Philippe´s lower lip was shaking and his face bore the marks of tears. Eyes of both brothers met and Philippe whispered: “She is...”  
Louis nodded. “I know.”  
And suddenly Philippe sobbed again and new tears fell across his cheeks and Louis quickly came to him and hid his little brother into his embrace.  
All the ministers and ladies were there, watching them, but one quick look and Bontemps understood.  
“The King wishes some privacy,” ordered Valet, “at once!”  
Everyone left and Bontemps, after a little hesitation, followed the crowd.  
The king took a sharp breath against his brother´s shoulder and clenched the fabric on Philippe´s back. Just a little change of balance and it wasn´t the older brother, king, comforting the younger one, but two brothers giving each other strength none of them had only by himself. Both noticed that change.  
When they let go of each other, Louis wasn´t crying and Philippe wasn´t crying any more.  
“She was the greatest king France has ever known,” mumbled Louis, “wasn´t she?”  
Philippe nodded. “So she was. And now there she is,” he said, “and here you are.”  
The voices behind the door were louder and louder.  
“I´ll give you five minutes,” offered Philippe, “then we have to send them in.”  
Louis silently agreed and Philippe disappeared to the corridor.

Louis never said to anyone, what he did in those five minutes. He took the secret into his own grave, many years later. The fact is, that when the door opened, he could accept everyone´s condolences with his face calm and regal.  
Finally, when he escaped to the corridor, he found Philippe waiting for him.  
They looked at each other, not knowing what to say.  
“Well...,” it was Louis who talked first, “...you´re leaving after the funeral I suppose.”  
Philippe nodded. “To Saint-Cloud. There I´ll watch over packing and return to Paris as soon as possible.”  
Louis quickly turned to him. “How long will you stay?”  
“You tell me, brother. How long you will need me.”  
Louis felt a load off his mind and smiled.  
The brothers stood in silence for a while and watched people in the corridor going past and back again.  
“What are you thinking about?” asked suddenly Louis.  
Philippe answered immediately: “Tea. And you?”  
“Perhaps also about tea,” agreed Louis, “come.”  
And for an hour at least the King and his brother left the past and death behind them.  
And the sun above the roofs announced, that a new day just begun.

**Author's Note:**

> A feedback will be very appreciated :-)
> 
> Please, big applause for my amazing proofreader Trudy White, the stories would be hardly so readable without her.


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